


When the Sky Clears

by CaptAcorn



Series: The Ruined Sky Universe [2]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Family, Multi, Reconciliation, Stars in a Ruined Sky, Timeless AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-06 09:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18848590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptAcorn/pseuds/CaptAcorn
Summary: 16 years after the events of Stars in a Ruined Sky, the last Voyager comes home. A Timeless AU story. Rated T for language.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Stars in a Ruined Sky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501337) by [CaptAcorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptAcorn/pseuds/CaptAcorn). 



> I hadn't planned on writing any fic for a while, but this story didn't want to leave my head. So, after doing something Scary and Risky in real life, I decided to jot this down as my reward. Thanks to Caseyptah for a quick beta read -- any remaining mistakes are my fault! 
> 
> This story will make way more sense if you read my Timeless AU, Stars in a Ruined Sky. Having said that, as a reader I would sometimes try a shorter sequel before committing to a big, epic work -- if you do the same, this is all you really need to know: as in the episode season 5 Timeless, Voyager falls out of the quantum slipstream and crashes on a remote planet. Harry and Chakotay make it back to the AQ unharmed, but, unlike the episode, about 50 of the crew survive -- including Janeway, Seven, Tom, and B'Elanna. The survivors are found and rescued about a year after the crash.

Harry Kim was having a terrible day. 

Which was not in any way extraordinary, as Harry Kim had been having weeks of terrible days. Months of them. Honestly, nothing that had happened in the last sixteen years had been great, and the four before that had been a mixed bag at best.  

But this day had started out pretty good, which was perhaps why its descent into likely injury and possible death was particularly grating. His asset had been at the correct meeting point at the correct time. Not only that, but she’d had the information she’d promised: a list of Federation sites targeted by a Xharotan terrorist group, of which her sister was a member. They’d made the exchange — the list for enough credits to get her off her homeworld and into Federation space — and Harry had made it back to his deliberately distressed, non-Fleet quality shuttlecraft, which, for once, hadn’t been tampered with in the slightest. He hadn’t had a mission go this smoothly maybe ever. 

So, of course, a light year short of his rendezvous point, his shuttle got caught in a rogue wave from a nearby coronal mass ejection, knocking out his warp core and severely damaging his life support. Just his luck. Although he couldn’t blame luck alone, could he? If he’d let his CO assign him a team, as she’d tried to, he might have had a pilot that was good enough to keep this old bucket ahead of the event horizon, or maybe an engineering tech creative enough to get the core back online long enough to fly to safety.

But Harry, as usual, had insisted on doing it alone, and his CO hadn’t pushed. (Possibly because of how hard it was to find officers willing to work with him.) He hadn’t been a good enough pilot, and his engineering skills had long gone rusty. Which meant his current choices were these: limp a million kilometers to crash land on what looked to be an L- or N-class planet just inside Federation space, or aim his little shuttle towards the rendezvous point, and quietly asphyxiate when his oxygen ran out.

It was a testament to exactly how many terrible days Harry had had lately that he seriously considered option two.

But his parents. It always came back to his parents. He thought of their worried faces over the years — when he’d first gotten back to Earth and had obsessively searched for  _ Voyager _ to the point of illness. When they’d finally found his old ship, and he’d spiraled into a crippling depression. When he’d signed on for Intelligence and told them he’d be out of touch for weeks and months at a time. They deserved better than a son that let himself die in space, just because he couldn’t be bothered. 

They deserved a better son in general, but Harry couldn’t do anything about that. He could, though, try to stay alive long enough to call them next week as planned.

So he ignored the various alarms and venting plasma and checked his sensors. Confirmed N- class, an equatorial continent he could land on, and… sentient life? He adjust the sensors and found evidence of exactly what he didn’t want — a big chunk of that equatorial continent had been terraformed for a colony. Shit. That complicated things. His mission could not go public. The Federation Council had been claiming for months that Starfleet had the situation with the Xharotan terrorists well under control, despite the truth being very much the opposite. The political fallout would be horrific. On top of that, if the Xharotans found out that Starfleet had this intel, not only would the information be rendered useless, but the life of Harry’s asset would be in danger. The more people that knew what Harry had been doing, the more risk of it all being for nothing.

He scanned the surface for somewhere, anywhere else he could put down, but there was nothing. Damn it! Why was there even a colony this close to the border? Who would want to live all the way out here? He trained the sensors more tightly on the colony, despite the shuttle computer begging him to address his waning oxygen levels. It wasn’t big — no more than a thousand or so humanoids — so maybe he could still go undetected. If the colony was that small, they probably didn’t have much of a sensor network. 

Deciding it was his best, and probably only, option, Harry aimed the shuttle for the thick, tropical forests that lined the mountain range fifty kilometers north of the colony. The soil there had a dense concentration of delarmite, which would confound most standard sensor grids. The colonists would never know he was there. It would be fine: he’d land (crash) the shuttle, send out an encrypted message to his ship, and camp out for a few days. It had been years since he’d been camping! Not since that shore leave he took with… Well, it didn’t matter when he’d last been, the point was it would be nice to be have a few days off the grid, nothing to keep him company but his own thoughts. 

Actually, that sounded kind of awful.

Which was maybe why he still wasn’t panicking at his shuttle began to plummet through the upper atmosphere. Harry tried to reverse thrusters to slow his descent, only to discover that, in its infinite wisdom, the computer had re-routed all the power from thruster control to life support, in a vain attempt to save Harry from his apparent lack of self-interest. “Damn autocorrection protocols!” he spat, as he tried to convince the computer that he knew exactly what he was doing and could it let him do it, please?

Nope. The computer steadfastly insisted that powering life support was a better choice than thrusters. Harry was going to crash. 

His heart began to pound, his breath caught in his throat, and a fine sheen of sweat broke out along his hairline. Ah, panic. There you are. It was nice, Harry considered as the planet rushed towards him, to know that he still  _ did  _ want to live, at least on some level. Too bad he figured this out right before he was about to die. The upper canopy of the forest filled his viewscreen with greenery, then everything went black.

 

/=\

 

Wow, it was hot. Why was it so hot? And who was that talking? 

“You’re gonna be in so much trouble with Dad.” 

“You’re going to be in trouble! You’re not supposed to leave the colony without a grown-up!” 

“It’s not my fault you didn’t check the cargo space.”

“I shouldn’t have  _ had  _ to check the cargo space, because you shouldn’t have been hiding in it!”

“Can both of you just shut up?”

Kids. It sounded like kids. 

Harry blinked his eyes open, then immediately shut them again. This was not good. His head felt like it weighed a kiloton, and the sunlight pouring in through his cracked viewscreen might as well have been a screw boring directly into his skull. He wiggled all of his fingers and toes in turn, and they seemed to be working appropriately. Just a little head trauma, then. He could handle a little head trauma. He opened his eyes again, this time shielding them with his right hand, and groaned. Maybe he couldn’t handle it.

“Did you hear that? There’s someone in there! We have to go help.”

“We can’t just rush in, Bertie. They could be dangerous.”

“I didn’t think  _ you  _ were afraid of anything. I thought  _ you  _ were going to go to  _ Starfleet _ .” 

“Shut up, Mary!”

Harry very slowly eased himself into sitting. He had to get out of here. Even if the kids had heard him — he’d identified three different voices so far — they couldn’t tell anyone anything if they couldn’t find him. He’d already downloaded the intel into his biceps implant; he just needed to grab the go bag he kept under the pilot’s seat. Nothing else in the shuttle would identify Harry or this craft as linked to Starfleet. 

The shuttle had landed mostly on its starboard side, the nose angled up towards the sky. Harry spotted the go bag just a meter out of reach. He’d grab it, kick out the cracked viewscreen (the workmanship in this thing was shoddy as hell) and make his escape. It sounded like those kids were still lurking outside the aft hatch, and he was a trained Starfleet Intelligence agent. They’d never catch up with him. 

If only his head didn’t feel like it had been encased in duranium. Harry tried to stand, only to stumble back onto his knees. That was fine — he’d crawl instead. He made it halfway to the bag, just barely holding onto his stomach contents, when a pair of bare, dirty feet appeared in front of him. 

“Need some help, mister?” 

Harry looked up and squinted. The feet were attached to a little girl. She couldn’t have been more than nine or ten, assuming she was human. There were a pair of goggles perched on her forehead, and a corona of snarled, blond hair arose from her head. Harry tried to respond but his tongue felt too big for his mouth. The girl’s face had begun to swim in a haze of grey. “I… uh…”

“Bertie,” she called over her shoulder. “You and Mal better get over here. Unless he’s some kind of alien I don’t know about, his color is  _ all  _ wrong.”

Two more appeared. They were older, Harry could see. One was probably nearly as tall as Harry was, the other looked to be on the cusp of adolescence. They also had goggles on their foreheads, although these two had tan scarves wrapped around their heads as well. The tall one got between Harry and the girl. “God, Mary, you can’t just run in like that. We don’t know anything about this guy.” 

The middle child was kneeling in front of him now, scanning him with a tricorder. “He’s human,” the child said. “And he’s got a subdural hematoma. I don’t think it matters who he is, Mal. We need to get him to Dad.” 

Ah, hell. This wasn’t what he needed at all. If they took him to a doctor, they might find his biceps implant, which would lead to questions, which would lead to Harry’s mission being uncovered. He had to get out of here. Maybe he could distract them? “Listen,” Harry said, alarmed at how much thought he had to put into each word that left his mouth. “I’ll be fine. I just need my med kit. But it’s very, very important that no one find out I’m here. I’m a… a…” Crap. What could he say to get these kids off his back? They seemed the type to be even more curious if he said he was a criminal, or some kind of fugitive. His mother’s face suddenly flashed into his brain. “A math teacher.” 

The kid with the tricorder (Harry was pretty sure he was a boy now) gave him an odd look. “A math teacher?”

“Why do you have a phaser, then?” 

Harry’s eyes opened wide in alarm. The girl had her face buried in his go bag and was throwing its contents about the wrecked shuttle. Except for the phaser, which was in her left hand. “Give me that!” he shouted, lurching towards her and falling flat on his face. 

The oldest took the phaser from the girl and was studying it intently. “This is Starfleet issue. But not just any Starfleet issue — this is a fifth generation Model Ten! How did you get one of these? My grandpa can’t even get one!” 

Harry opened and closed his mouth, trying desperately to process how things had gotten so out of control. “It’s not a… It’s a…” Work, brain! Come on!

“You’re Starfleet Intelligence!” the tall one said. “No. No, you’re Section 31!” 

How did these kids even know about Section 31? They were kids, for god’s sake! “No,” he slurred. “I’m not… I’m not Section 31. I’m just a... “ What had he said before? “A merchant.” No. Shit, that wasn’t right. “A… A…” Harry interrupted himself by losing his battle with this stomach. He groaned again and tried not to fall into his own vomitus. 

“Yuck,” the girl said. “Mal, we really gotta get him back to Dad.”

“Agreed.” The tall one — Mal — looped an arm under Harry’s shoulders and hauled him to his feet. The kid was strong despite a rather slight build. “Come on, sir, we’ll get you to safety.”  

Harry wanted to protest — he needed to send a message to his CO, he needed to get his bag — but it was so much easier to let this kid drag him out of the shuttle. 

They brought him towards an open-topped hover car parked only a few meters away. The middle boy was circling them, still scanning Harry with his tricorder. The youngest and oldest kids never stopped talking, although Harry was finding it harder and harder to follow.

“You don’t need to worry, sir. We know all about protocol. My grandfather is—”

“ _ Our _ grandfather. You don’t own him, you know. Sorry, Mister. Mal spent one summer in San Francisco, and now they think they’re a captain.”

“Shut  _ up _ , Mary! I’m gonna tell Mom and Dad you hid in the cargo space again, and you’re going to get it!” 

“I’ll have to get in line, since they’ll be too busy grounding you again to even care!”

By this point in the argument, Mal had gently lowered Harry into the back of the hover car before climbing into the driver’s seat. The middle one (Harry couldn’t remember his name. Had he told him his name?) sat himself directly in front of Harry, scanning him and making worried glances at his tricorder. The girl climbed over his lap to sit in the back. She offered him a pair of goggles. “The deflectors on this thing will protect us from the trees, but the wind still gets pretty bad. Mal drives likes a lunatic.” 

“Huh,” Harry mumbled, studying the lenses and straps in his hand. “These look straight out of Captain Proton.”

The boy with the tricorder stared at him. “Did you say Captain Proton?” 

Before Harry could answer, the hover car shot straight up into the trees. Thankfully, the girl was right about the deflectors. “Let me put those on for you,” she said, roughly arranging the goggles on his very sore head. “You seem a little out of it.” 

The small craft exploded through the top of the canopy and jerked to a brief stop. Harry was fairly certain he’d left his stomach somewhere on the forest floor. Before he could ask the kids if they could stop to look for it, they zipped forward and Harry’s (still very sore) head slammed into the back of the seat. “Maybe you should close your eyes!” the girl yelled at him over the wind. “This is going to take a few minutes!”  

Harry took her advice. He could use the time to figure out a new plan. Like how he could convince these kids’ parents that he was a merchant, or a math teacher, or whatever he’d said. And how to get back to his shuttle, so he could send an encrypted message to his CO. And how he could fix that shuttle, and fly the hell out of here. And also how he was going to accomplish any of these objectives when his head felt like an overripe watermelon.  

The hovercraft started to slow, and Harry chanced opening his eyes again. They were approaching the outer edge of the colony, specifically a large, white, one-story building that was at the end of a circular drive, and whose back faced the ocean. “Is that your house?” he mumbled. “It’s so big.”

The girl laughed. “No, silly. That’s the hospital. Even I know you need the hospital, and I’m only seven.” The hover car came to a stop. Harry considered trying to get out of it, but his body felt oddly distant. Like he’d left it back at the shuttle. Oh well. Maybe this hospital could get him a new one.

“Hey,” the girl said. “Stay awake. Here comes my dad.” 

“Mal!” Harry heard an angry voice shout. “What the hell is the matter with you? You remember you’re grounded, right? And you took Maryam with you? Where is your head?” 

Weird. That voice sounded oddly familiar. 

“Dad,” the middle child said. “Come quick. He’s got a subdural hematoma. I think he needs surgery.” 

“What?” the familiar voice said, much closer now. “What did you kids— Oh my god.” 

Harry blinked up at the face looming over him. He was blond, with tan, freckled skin and a ginger beard shot with grey. He also had the most striking blue eyes. Harry used to know someone with eyes like that. “Tom?” he said, registering the other man’s shock for just a moment when, for the second time that day, everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies to Photogirl1890 as I didn't ask/let her copyedit this one as I was just trying to get it out of my brain as quickly as possible, and I've heard there are some typos. Sorry! I know they will drive you nuts...

Harry could hear the ocean: waves crashing, wind rustling through the trees, birds crying. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten to the ocean, but found he didn’t care. He was warm, the pillow under his head was cool, and his body was enveloped by the softest bed he’d ever felt. There were things he was supposed to be doing (not that he remembered what any of them were) but surely they could wait.

Too bad someone disagreed. A very loud someone. “Are you awake?”

Harry’s eyes snapped open at the belligerent voice, and met the steely gaze of an elderly Klingon woman. “What? Who? Where am I?” he stammered.

She took a step back, her expression calm. “You are in the community hospital on Parhaia Four. You are recovering from surgery.”

Surgery? Harry looked around at his surroundings. The room was a good size, awash in sunlight from the double window to his right. It was open, and a gentle breeze was blowing, bringing in the scent of citrus and flowers. His biobed was one of two, the other empty and neatly made. He lifted his head, and the resulting dull ache and dizziness reminded him of exactly why he’d needed surgery.

“You should not attempt to rise yet,” the Klingon said.

“No,” Harry agreed, sinking back into the fantastic pillow. “I guess not.” He rubbed his hands over his face. He needed to get back to his shuttle, contact his CO. But the first step was probably checking in with whatever doctor had done his surgery. He needed to know what kind of damage control was required. “Are you the nurse?” he asked.

The woman scoffed and tossed her grey hair. “Nurse? I am the preeminent exogeologist in the field of terraforming and largely responsible for the habitability of this colony! No, I am not the  _ nurse _ .” And with that she stormed out of the room.

“That went poorly,” Harry said to no one. He looked around the biobed. There must be some way of contacting the medical staff without getting up. Because he really didn’t feel ready to get up.

“Hey, Starfleet,” a familiar and long missed voice called to him from the doorway to his room. “About time you came to.”

“B’Elanna!” Harry struggled with the blankets and monitoring devices in a largely futile attempt to sit up. “What are you doing here?”

The half-Klingon took three quick strides to his bedside and pushed him down, eyes rolling. “For god’s sake, Harry, didn’t my mother tell you to not get up yet?”

Harry looked past her to the open door, a little worried the old Klingon was going to come back to yell at him again. There were about a hundred questions he could ask the friend he hadn’t seen in over a decade, but the one that came out was: “That was your mother? You live with your mother?”

B’Elanna’s eyes widened in alarm. “God, no. There isn’t enough noise suppression equipment in the galaxy to protect our neighbors from that.” She began straightening the covers over him. “We live on opposite ends of the colony. But she’s helping with the kids today, so I asked her to come check in on you.”

Kids! He’d heard something about that! B’Elanna had kids now! It certainly explained the weirdly maternal way she fixed his blankets and patted him on the knee when she was done. She wasn’t the same woman that ruled over  _ Voyager _ ’s engine room with a duranium fist, that was for sure. Her hair was longer and lighter, her expression softer, and the first hint of laugh lines had formed by her eyes. “It’s good to see you, Maquis,” he said.

“You, too,” she agreed before her eyes went hard. “Now, do you want to explain exactly what the fuck you were thinking, crashing that broken down relic into my planet? You could have gotten yourself killed!”

Maybe she wasn’t so different after all. “Here’s the thing,” Harry said. “I can’t really tell you.”

“Bullshit,” B’Elanna retorted. “If my fifteen-year-old can figure out you’re working for Starfleet Intelligence, you clearly need some help covering your tracks. Give it up, Harry.”

“Wait, those were your kids?” He considered the assortment of children that had found him. The youngest  _ had  _ been blonde. The middle one was clearly scientifically-minded. And the oldest drove like a lunatic. It was all beginning to make sense. The goggles must have hidden their ridges. But that meant… “That  _ was _ Tom, wasn’t it?”

“Of course it was,” B’Elanna said, perching on the edge of his bed. “He did the surgery that kept your brain from turning to goo.”

Harry blinked. Was he still suffering from side effects of his head injury? “Tom’s a doctor?”

“Yes, Harry, for over a decade now,” she huffed. “But you’re trying to change the subject, and as you may remember, I can be pretty stubborn when the need arises.”

Harry did remember. Allowing himself a moment to appreciate exactly how much he missed the woman sitting next to him, he squeezed her hand. She squeezed back, but didn’t stop glaring. “How long have you got?” he asked.

The rest of the afternoon, it turned out. Harry started by relating the non-classified bits of his mission (there weren’t many) but B’Elanna got the gist. “I’ve got three guesses which terrorist organization you’re tracking. Given where we’re located, we follow the non-Fed news feeds on Xharotan pretty closely. That’s why the kids spotted your ship before anyone else — most of the adults are busy working on our shield generator and the planetary cloak.”

Science always having been a safe and common ground between them, they chatted about the tech B’Elanna designed, and the repairs his shuttle needed. After giving a barebones report of his own personal life (“My parents are doing OK.” “Nope, still no girlfriend. Same old Harry, I guess.”) Harry turned the interrogation onto her: “How long have you guys lived here?”

“I was hugely pregnant with Bertie when we moved,” B’Elanna said. “So... twelve years.”

Harry wondered if his nausea was from his head or his guilt.“I had no idea. I didn’t even know you’d left Earth.”

“Well, how would you?” she said.

Harry cringed. But B’Elanna didn’t look angry, as he’d feared. Just a bit sad and confused. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That I haven’t kept in touch. That I never returned your calls. I…” He stared down at his hands. “I don’t really have an excuse.”

“Sure you do,” B’Elanna said. “I’m guessing it’s the same one—”

She was interrupted by a sharp rap against the door frame. A young Bajoran woman had entered his room. “I’m sorry to interrupt, B’Elanna, but I’m supposed to do Mr. Kim’s post-op assessment.”

B’Elanna frowned. “You’re doing it? Where’s Tom?”

The woman bit her lower lip. “Dr. Paris said he was busy. He said it would be good practice for me, besides. He’s going to review all my findings, though, you don’t have to worry.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about, Nara,” B’Elanna said, jumping to her feet. “Goddamn that stupid  _ petaQ _ !”

Harry grabbed her forearm. “B’Elanna, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not fine! This stupid whatever-it-is has been going on for almost sixteen years, and it’s time for it to end.” She shook her arm free and waggled a finger at him. “And don’t think you’re leaving before it does. Your shuttle won’t be spaceworthy for a week, anyway.” And, much like her mother two hours earlier, B’Elanna stomped out of his room.

The Bajoran intern gave him a tentative smile. “Try to relax, Mr. Kim. I know she’s a bit intimidating at first, but Ms. Torres is one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. If you’ve got a problem, she’ll find the solution.”

Harry gave her a weak smile in return. “I’m not sure even B’Elanna can handle this one.”  


	3. Chapter 3

Sometimes, B’Elanna Torres hated her husband. 

To an outsider, Tom would look like he was just being a good father. Within minutes of getting home, he’d offered Mal help with their astrophysics homework, then practiced pop-ups with Bertie in the backyard. He’d enlisted all three in dinner prep, instructing them on the finer points of roasting a chicken. Now he was on the floor with Maryam doing a puzzle, despite the fact it was probably hell on his back. 

But B’Elanna knew the score. Mal’s best subject was astrophysics, and baseball season had ended two weeks ago. (The puzzle thing was genuine, though. Maryam hoarded parental attention like a miser and would probably space both her older siblings if the opportunity arose.) 

Tom wasn’t being an involved parent. Tom was avoiding her. 

Even he had to concede at bedtime, though. Typically, the older two got to stay up an hour later than their little sister, but B’Elanna pulled Mal aside. “I need you and Bertie to do Mary’s bedtime tonight.”

“But, Mooooom,” they whined, drawing the single syllable into three.

“Ma’Leth,” she growled in return. 

“OK, OK!” They ducked their head, waving their arms in submission. The kid had nearly twenty centimeters on her, but B’Elanna still knew how to scare the crap out of them. Maryam, on the other hand… 

“No!” she shouted. She had starfished herself across the doorway that led to the bedrooms. “It’s your night to read, and do my bath, and you owe me!” 

Owed her for what, her mother had no idea — logic and Maryam were rarely on speaking terms. But B’Elanna had been a parent over fifteen years now. She’d long learned the lesson that what worked for one kid didn’t necessarily translate to another. Mal did best if you appealed to their sense of honor, combined with threats when necessary. Bertie was an anxious, gentle soul who blossomed with positive reinforcement. Pretty much the only thing that worked on Maryam was bribery. 

“I’ll give you an extra scoop of ice cream tomorrow night if you cooperate with me just this one time.” The little girl’s eyes narrowed as she considered her mother’s offer. B’Elanna sweetened the deal. “Two scoops.”  

Thankfully, Maryam relented and went off with her siblings with no more than a slightly pouty “G’night” to her parents. 

B’Elanna had barely straightened up from Mary’s kiss on the cheek when she saw Tom grab his bag and head for the door. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He blinked at her, hand on the doorknob and his mouth spreading into a broad and patently false grin. “Oh, I forgot about Karam Kruang’s prescription. His, uh, enteritis is acting up again. I told him I’d run him over some meds.” 

“He lives all the way out by my mother! Why can’t you just send him a replicator file?”

Tom shrugged and avoided her eyes. “You know how old-fashioned he is. He doesn’t like replicated stuff.” 

B’Elanna had had just about enough of this. “Then where the hell are you getting the meds from? Cut the crap, Tom.” 

He took his hand off the knob, but didn’t move away from the door. “Let it go, B’Elanna. I’m glad we found him, I’m glad he’s all right, but this isn’t an engineering problem. You can’t fix this.” 

“I don’t even know what ‘this’ is!” she exclaimed. She opened her mouth to demand her husband finally explain himself, but then saw the slump in his shoulders and sad look in his eyes, and softened. “He’s your best friend, Tom. Or at least he used to be. Don’t you remember, back when we were on Hoth? How much you missed him? Don’t you remember how much fun you used to have together on  _ Voyager _ ? When you always had each other’s back?” She chuckled a little. “I mean, god. I actually used to be jealous of him — how much of your attention he got. Why are you so willing to throw all that away?”

His head whipped up at that, and B’Elanna was startled by the angry flush of his skin and the hardness in his eyes. “I didn’t throw anything away, B’Elanna. And I wasn’t going to let Harry  _ take  _ it from me, either.” 

She was completely lost. She and Tom had come a long way from  _ Voyager  _ — when they used banter to hide their feelings, and resolved most of their fights with sex. They shared just about everything — B’Elanna’s frustrations with her mother and distrust of her father. Tom’s conflicted feelings about his own parents, or anxiety about his patients. But this estrangement with Harry was one topic on which he’d been relentlessly tight-lipped. “Talk to me, Tom. Please. Help me understand.” 

His jaw clenched and unclenched, his hands open and closed into fists. “Yeah. OK. I guess you deserve to hear it. After all this time, it’s not like it matters. It’s not like he could still... ” His eyes widened in alarm. “Except maybe he can. Maybe—” 

“Tom!” B’Elanna barked. “Will you just tell me what the hell you’re talking about?” 

His face relaxed into a sheepish smile. “Right. Sorry.” He extended his hand towards her. “Let’s go sit down. This may take a while.”  

 


	4. Chapter 4

_ Sixteen years earlier _

 

Tom Paris couldn’t stop smiling. 

Which wasn’t that weird — he found all kinds of reasons to be happy these days. After being trapped for over a year on a semi-frozen mountainside, fighting for the basic means of survival, Tom had a new appreciation for things like being warm enough and having adequate food. B’Elanna regularly rolled her eyes at how much he’d enthuse over a really good cioppino, or a particularly fuzzy pair of socks.

But there was one aspect of post-rescue life that was more likely to make him grimace — repairing the damage his body had taken during  _ Voyager _ ’s final crash landing. Three major surgeries, multiple week-long stints in the rehab wing of Starfleet Medical, seemingly endless hours of physical therapy: it was all very necessary, Tom was exceedingly grateful for everything the med staff had done, but it also royally sucked.

Which was probably why his physical therapist was looking at him like he’d grown an extra head versus just having a sappy grin plastered on his face. 

“You’re in an awfully chipper mood today,” David remarked as he freed Tom from the band around his right ankle. “Have you started drinking in the mornings? Or just excited to discover the joy of resistive hip abduction?” 

“Is that what this latest method of torture is called?” He needed to change the subject before he blabbed his news. The last thing B’Elanna had said to him this morning was a clear directive to keep his ‘big mouth shut for once.’ “I still don’t understand how you haven’t been brought up on charges.”

“You love it, Paris.” David handed him his water bottle. “Or you will when you can walk more than a kilometer without being in pain.”  

“Well, I hate it — and you — plenty right now,” Tom said. David only grinned. He was Tom’s favorite PT. Likely because he was a quarter Betazoid, he knew when Tom needed encouragement versus when it was more appropriate to give him a (metaphorical) kick in the ass. And, unlike the earnest but rather young Bolian that he’d been assigned after his lung replacement, David didn’t take Tom’s complaining and insults personally. 

He made some adjustments to Tom’s analgesic implant, then helped him lay on the mat to get stretched out. “I hate to ruin your mood,” David said as they finished the last stretch, “but there’s something we need to talk about.”

Shit. Tom pushed himself to sitting. “This doesn’t sound like good news.”  

“It’s not. I have some concerns.” David didn’t think his hip joint was improving like it should. “Your range of motion is still poor, and I’m not seeing any improvement on force-plate analysis. I think you need that iliopsoas implant.”

Which meant a fourth surgery, and probably another week of not even being able to get out of bed without help. His surgeon had decided to forgo doing the implant when he’d done the pelvic and femur repairs, telling Tom he’d recover faster without the extra procedure tacked on and probably wouldn’t need it, anyway. “Damn it.” Tom slammed his hand into the mat. “I knew they should’ve done it last time. I’m so sick of this.” 

“Hey.” David squatted next to him on the mat and put a hand on his shoulder. “This isn’t a big deal. It’s an outpatient procedure; it’s going to push your recovery back two, three weeks tops.”

“I know, I know,” Tom said. He couldn’t tell David everything — he’d promised B’Elanna — but he needed to share this with someone. At least on some level. “It’s just my wife… I’ve been relying on her for just about everything, for months now. I want to be able to take care of her for a change.”

“I’ve seen the two of you together, remember? You take plenty good care of her.” David stood, then helped get Tom to his feet. “Listen to me: B’Elanna knows how hard you’ve been working to get better. And you’re almost there! I know it sucks, but we’re in the homestretch. You can do this.”

“Thanks.” Tom sighed but managed to give David a grateful smile. “But just for the pep talk. This physical therapy crap can take a flying leap.” 

David eyes began to crinkle into a laugh when suddenly his expression sobered.

“What’s wrong?” Tom asked. 

  
The other man arranged his features into a neutral state. “Nothing, just thought of something. Your friend’s here.” 

Tom turned and saw Harry Kim entering the treatment room. His first, brief instinct at the sight was dread, which was immediately replaced by guilt. Harry had had a rough time since finding Tom and the others. No matter how much Tom (and B’Elanna, and Kathryn, and Chakotay) had tried to reassure him, Harry had taken the responsibility for  _ Voyager _ ’s crash and the death of much of the crew on in its entirety. Tom had watched it happen before his eyes the day they were rescued — Harry’s brief moment of triumph at finding them devolving into an all-consuming sense of failure when he discovered less than fifty people had survived. That, in turn, had spun into a severe depression. By the time their rescue vessel had arrived back on Earth, Harry had already been put on psych leave at Chakotay’s recommendation. 

He’d made progress over the last four months, but still had more bad days than good. Tom remembered how he’d felt after Caldik Prime — how he was sure no one could possibly comprehend his deep feelings of self-loathing and guilt — so felt like he was in a unique position to help his friend. Tom knew patience was in order, as well as listening and empathy. 

But knowing it didn’t necessarily make it easier to do. “Hey, Har,” he called out. “Didn’t know you were going to be here today.” 

Harry rushed over to him, his face flushed and eyes bright. “I wasn’t. But when I figured this out, I had to find you. We have to talk. Where can we talk?”  

This was new. Tom hadn’t seen his friend so animated since he’d first materialized at Hoth. “Uh, let’s grab some lunch. I just need to hit the shower and change first.” 

Harry waved dismissively at that. “The shower can wait. Come on, Tom! This is important!”

David stepped between them. “I’m sure it can wait the fifteen minutes it’ll take for Tom to get cleaned up.” 

Harry’s expression was annoyed, but he relented. David followed Tom into the locker room. “Uh, David?” Tom said, eyeing the therapist. “I know I’m still pretty crippled, but I mastered showering by myself a while ago.” 

David gave him a quick smile, but his eyes were serious. “I can get you out of lunch if you need me to. I can tell Harry you’re not up for it.” 

Tom waved a hand at David’s head. “I think your empathic powers are on the fritz,” he said. “Harry’s my best friend. He needs support right now, and I’m the best person to give it to him. It’s fine.” 

David stared at him for a beat. “OK, Tom. But take it easy, all right? You need to take care of yourself first, before you can take care of Harry. Or B’Elanna.” 

It only took thirteen minutes for Tom to get showered and dressed, but the way Harry was fidgeting one would have thought Tom had been in there for an hour. “You OK, Har? You seem a little manic. You on new meds?”

“I’m not manic!” Harry was practically bouncing in place. “I’m excited! Elated! I can’t wait to tell you!”

“OK. So tell,” he said, inwardly wondering if he should contact the Doc or Harry’s counselor about his behavior.

“Not here.” Harry whipped his head back and forth in the empty corridor as if someone were listening in. “We need to get off Starfleet grounds. There’s a Thai restaurant on Clement that’s usually quiet at lunch.” 

Tom knew the place. There was a reason it was quiet — the pad see ew was terrible. He had another concern as well. “That’s almost three kilometers away. Let me call a hover—” 

“No,” Harry said. “It’ll take forever to get one this time of day. Walking is faster.”

Not the way Tom did it lately, but Harry was insistent. It took nearly forty-five minutes, and Tom was really pushing it. He was grateful David had adjusted the setting on his nociceptor blocker. “I thought you’d be better by now,” Harry said at one point. “It’s been over four months.” 

Tom silently reminded himself that his friend was in pain, it was his mental illness talking, and he had to be patient. It was silent because he was too winded to say anything aloud.

The hostess took one look at him and said she’d bring water right away. “Just bring us an order of tod mun, two Thai iced teas, and a couple of plates of pad see ew,” Harry said as soon as the glasses hit the table. “And bring it all together — we need a few minutes of privacy.” 

Tom gulped water from his glass. “You finally going to spill the beans?” 

Harry leaned across the table, his face split into a broad grin. “I’ve figured it out, Tom!” he said. “I’ve figured out how to fix everything!” 

Over the next fifteen minutes, as Harry expounded on the finer points of Borg temporal transmitters, drone interplexing beacons, and chronometric nodes, Tom went from confused, to concerned, to queasy, to downright horrified. He was talking about changing the timeline. “Harry,” he said, now sure that he should contact the Doc at his very next opportunity. “You’re just spitballing here, right? You know you can’t actually do this.”

“But I can!” Harry said. “It all comes down to Borg tech! I first had the idea almost a year ago — did you know there’s an entire storage unit of salvaged cube components on Mars? The ‘Fleet doesn’t even know what they’re sitting on! But I do!” Harry went onto explain how he’d come up with an idea to use a temporal transmitter to send a message back in time. His plan was to send Seven the correct variances for navigating the slipstream. He’d still been working on a way of calculating the frequency of Seven’s interplexing beacon when the signal from Hoth had come through, and he’d changed his focus to rescuing them in the present. “But then we found you and… The point is, I’ve been thinking about it again — sending the course corrections to the past. At first I thought I’d need to remove her beacon to get it to link correctly, but I think I have a workaround. The risk to Seven would be almost nonexistent.”

“ _ Almost _ nonexistent?” Tom said, wondering if he could message the Doc under the table without Harry noticing. “Have you talked to Seven about any of this?”

He at least had the good grace to look sheepish. “Not yet. She and I haven’t been getting along all that great. Since the rescue. That’s partly why I wanted to get you on board first. You and Seven seem pretty close these days. Maybe you can talk her into it.” 

Tom and Seven  _ were _ a lot closer than they’d been on  _ Voyager _ . So close, in fact, that Tom knew she’d pretty much discard Harry’s idea out of hand. She’d fought hard to get her health back after the near failure of her implants. She wasn’t going to risk it on a poorly considered (not to mention highly illegal) plan cooked up out of desperation and guilt.

And it was because of that desperation and guilt that Tom knew it would be hard to talk Harry out of it. His best bet was to keep his cool, point out the logic holes that were large enough to fly a Galaxy-class ship through, then turn this over to someone more qualified to deal with the onset of psychosis. “Aren’t you still on medical leave? How are you going to get the transmitter? Just fill out a requisition and hope for the best?”

“That’s the other thing I need your help with,” Harry said. “I thought Chakotay might be able to help, but—” 

Tom put up a hand. “Chakotay knows about this? He’s on board?”

Harry averted his eyes. “Not exactly. We’d talked about it before — he didn’t really like the idea even then — so I’ve let him think I’ve dropped it. But he was my only connection with enough clearance.” His face darkened. “He’ll probably talk Janeway out of helping, too.”  

Tom was lost. His status with Starfleet was still up in the air, given his various legal and medical issues.  He didn’t have any more of a security clearance than Harry did. “Then how am I... ?” His stomach sank. How could this get any worse? “Oh my god, Harry. Do you want me to go to my father with this?” 

“No,” Harry scoffed. “Of course not. I just thought you could help me get into his office — even his home one would be fine. I’ve picked up a few things while you were missing.” Harry’s wide but empty grin made him look even more unhinged. “You’d be proud of me, really. I’ve learned a lot about getting past Starfleet firewalls.”

And it just got worse. “No, Harry. No, no, and no. This is nuts. You can’t do this. You can’t alter the entire course of the universe on the off chance you can save  _ Voyager _ !”

“Will you keep it down?” he hissed back. “And it’s not an off chance. I did all the calculations, Tom! I know this will work. Tuvok, Neelix. Megan! I can save all of them!”

“And kill who else in the process? Even if it goes off without a hitch — and there’s no guarantee that it will — you have no idea of the possible ramifications. You can’t change a timeline just like that!” There was only one other couple in the restaurant, and they seemed to be embroiled in their own fight. But the hostess and two of the waiters were watching them with interest. Tom dropped his voice. “Listen to me. That year at Hoth… It sucked. Hard. There were times I was as desperate as I’ve ever been. But there was good stuff, too, Har. Stuff I’m not willing to give up. Naomi knows her father now. Joe Carey has his family back. This isn’t just about your pain.” 

“My pain!” Now Harry was the one with volume issues. “Over a hundred people died in that crash! Seven nearly died. Janeway’s still dealing with her brain injury. And you! You walk like an old man; you can’t even make it a block without hurting! I’m not doing this for me! I’m doing it for all of you!” 

“Except none of us want it!” Tom rubbed his hands over his face. He needed to be the calm one, the rational one. He took a breath and tried again. “Harry, I get it. I do. I know how it feels to want to go back, fix everything that went wrong. But it doesn’t work like that. After Caldik Prime—” 

Harry jumped to his feet, shoving the table hard into Tom’s gut. “Will you shut up about Caldik Prime? You killed three people! Three! That’s nothing compared to what I did!”

For once, Tom was grateful for his injuries. If he’d been any healthier, he probably would have gotten up and decked Harry across the jaw. He glanced around the restaurant — even the arguing couple was staring now. A glare sent the waiters scurrying into the kitchen. “This isn’t you,” Tom said. “You’re just in a bad place. So I’m going to call your counselor. We’ll go right now. Together.”

“I don’t need my damn counselor!” Harry slammed his palms into the table and sent his water glass over the side. “I need you to talk to Seven, and to get me access to that storage unit. Are you going to help me, or not?”

“I want to help you,” Tom said. “I  _ will  _ help you. But not like this.”

“Screw you, Paris.” Harry’s eyes went flat and his voice cold. “I always knew you were a coward.”

Tom pushed himself to standing. “Harry, wait—” 

“No,” he said, hand raised as he backed out the door. “Stay the hell away from me. And stay out of my life.”

Tom apologized profusely to the restaurant staff, as well as the arguing couple, and no, thank you, he didn’t need to take the food home. Turned out Harry was right about the hover cab. It took forever for Tom to get one. So long, in fact, that he had time to send quick messages to the Doc, Harry’s counselor and parents, asking each of them to keep an extra close eye out for their patient and son. He called Seven, too, and arranged to meet her the following day. It would be better to tell her in person why she should give Harry a wide berth for a while. His dad he left for later. No doubt his father would interrogate him as to how, exactly, his son had heard about a potential security threat to Borg components stored on Mars, and Tom needed a good story. He was still enough of a friend that he would spare Harry legal trouble if he could.

By the time Tom got back to his and B’Elanna’s home in Candlestick Point, the fog had rolled in and so had his anger. He could get over Harry calling him a coward. He could move beyond Harry’s disregard for the struggle Tom and the others had gone through at Hoth, and the pain many of them were still in. He could even get over Harry’s casual dismissal of the worst mistake of Tom’s life. 

But he could not — and he would not — let Harry change the timeline. He’d fought way too hard for this life to let anyone, even his best friend, take it away from him now.

Tom dragged himself through the lobby of their building, making a mental note to thank B’Elanna for insisting on a ground-level unit. Waiting for a lift might have been the final straw. Once he got inside their apartment, he found he didn’t have the energy to do anything beyond dump his jacket over a dining room chair and fall into their couch.

“Hey,” B’Elanna said as she came out of the bedroom. “Where’ve you been? I thought you were coming straight home.” She studied him for a moment. “Are you OK? You look terrible.” 

Initially, Tom thought he’d tell B’Elanna everything — Harry’s crazy plan, the awful things he’d said — but the more he thought about it, the more it felt like the wrong thing to do. As angry as Tom was at Harry right now, he knew it would have nothing on the rage B’Elanna would feel. Harry, the old Harry, had once been the best of them. Maybe the kindest thing Tom could do for him — the last kind thing Tom would do for him — was to let B’Elanna remember him that way. 

“It’s nothing,” he said. “David thinks I need another surgery. It’s not a big deal, he said. Just an outpatient procedure. I’m just ready to be done.” 

B’Elanna made a sympathetic face as she curled up on the couch next to him. “I’m sorry. I know this is frustrating for you. But you’re so much better than you were. You have to remember how far you’ve come.” 

Tom shook his head and forced a smile to his face. “I know. I’m fine. Just wallowing again. Let’s talk about something else.” He placed a hand across her belly and suddenly that smile didn't feel so forced. “How are  _ you  _ feeling?”

She grinned back at him. “Pretty good, actually. Kind of tired. But the antiemetics were a good idea — thank you.” She put her hand over Tom’s. “I’m still kind of in shock. We must be the most fertile interspecies couple in history.” 

Tom laughed and leaned over to kiss her neck. “Considering all the shitty luck we’ve had, I think we deserve some good, too. I love you, Mommy.” 

B’Elanna jerked upright and gave him a mock glare. “Gross, Tom. Don’t make it weird.” She smiled. “And I love you, too.” 

After a quiet moment, B’Elanna got up to make him lunch. “I’m getting you some hot tea, too. Your hands are freezing.” Tom listened to the clatter of plates and whirr of the replicator. “I was thinking,” she said. “I know he’s not the most fun person to be around these days, but should we ask Harry to dinner this week? I’m worried about him.” 

Tom was grateful she was still in the other room. He stared at his hands while he thought of what to say. “Actually, I ran into him earlier today, after my PT session. That’s what took me so long. He’s going to be away for a while. Said he wanted to take some time on his own. Clear his head.” 

B’Elanna emerged with the promised tea and a ham and swiss on sourdough. “Is that a good idea? Did his counselor sign off on that?” 

“I’m sure it’s fine.” Tom shrugged and bit into his sandwich. “He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself.” 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Tom had no idea where his daughter had gotten to. She’d left school during recess again, but wasn’t at any of her usual haunts. Miral’s, the Wildmans’, the chicken farm — they’d all come up empty. He wasn’t worried, exactly. Half the colony was in the habit of keeping an eye on her, and, while impulsive, Maryam generally had a healthy sense of self-preservation. He’d just feel better if he knew where she was, and that she didn’t have access to power tools. Or a phaser.

Tom had just hit another dead end — Terry Haddroc’s cat had a litter of four-week-old kittens, and they’d promised Mary she could get one — when he got a call on his handheld.

“Hey, Tom.” It was Ken Dalby. He’d moved to Parhaia Four with Tem five years ago and was in charge of the shuttleport. “Just thought I’d let you know I had Maryam sighting a couple minutes ago. She was ducking into Hanger Three and completely ignored me when I tried to get her attention.”

Tom grinned. “Sounds like Mary. I’ll be there in ten. Thanks, Ken.”

It  _ was  _ an odd choice for her, though. Mary was the only one of his kids not the least bit interested in flying. Of course, she was also prone to picking up a new hobby every other week, so it’s possible she’d cycled around to shuttles.

It wasn’t until he reached the entrance gate that her real motivation occurred to him: Harry.

All the kids had been fascinated by the mysterious stranger they’d found crash landed in the rain forest near their home, Mal took quite a bit of convincing before they’d let go of the Section 31 business (“You’re not even supposed to know it exists!” an exasperated B’Elanna had said.) Bertie wanted to know how he’d heard about Captain Proton. Maryam wondered if he was going to teach math in  _ her  _ grade, because “he didn’t seem very bright, Dad.”  When they found out that not only did their parents know the guy, but he was the only surviving member of  _ Voyager _ ’s crew they’d never met, they’d blown their collective gaskets.

“He’s the original Buster Kincaid?” “He called Aunt Kathryn ‘sir’?” “ _ How _ many times did he die?” B’Elanna told most of the stories, Tom just adding in a salient detail here and there. Quiet, perceptive Bertie was the only one who noticed something was a bit off.

“It sounds like you used to be really good friends, Dad,” he’d said as they’d walked to school this morning, Mal and Mary ahead and bickering as usual.

“We were,” Tom agreed.

“So why aren’t you anymore?”

“That’s a good question, Bert,” Tom said. One that he had no idea how to answer. Because if it were up to Harry, Bertie and his siblings wouldn’t even exist? Because Tom’s anger at his friend had battled with guilt over the feeling he’d let him down? “Sometimes people just grow apart,” he said finally. “He wasn’t on Hoth with us. There was a lot that happened there that he didn’t share in. It can change relationships sometimes.”

“But Uncle Chakotay wasn’t there, either,” Bertie observed. “And he’s still your friend.”

“I wish I had a better answer for you, bud.” Tom pointed towards the schoolyard. “Look. Meg has a new bike. Why don’t you go check it out?”

He hadn’t had a very good answer for B’Elanna, either. Two nights ago, after he’d told her everything, she’d been sympathetic, but also exasperated. “It’s been sixteen years, Tom, and clearly he didn’t change the timeline. You two are long overdue to have this out. Stop being so stubborn.”

“I’m not the only one at fault here! It’s not like I didn’t try to call him afterwards.”

“How many times?” she demanded. “Two, maybe three?”

One, actually. The day after their argument, Tom had called Harry’s comm, his nausea growing with each ring. He’d felt such abject relief when Harry hadn’t answered, he’d decided it was a sign he should honor his friend’s wishes and leave him the hell alone. But that didn’t mean he willing to shoulder all the blame. “And how many times did you call him, B’Elanna? Once a week for a while, right? Then every year on his birthday? For how long? And he didn’t pick up a single fucking time! Why don’t you go yell at him for a change?”

Her expression didn’t budge. “Because one of you is a happily married, professionally successful, and occasionally mature father of three; the other is a depressive with a death wish and a stagnant career. Who do you think is more qualified to take the first step?”

Tom’s shoulders dropped. “It’s not like I’m still angry at him,” he admitted. “I haven’t been for a while. But every year that passed by, when we didn’t see him or hear from him, it felt more and more impossible to reach out.”

“Well,” B’Elanna said, “whether it’s fate, or the stars, or stupid luck — he’s here now. You’re going to kick yourself if you don’t take advantage of it. And, frankly, if you don’t kick yourself, I’ll do it for you.”

Tom laughed. His wife knew him well. There was something else he was feeling bad about, though. “Did I do the wrong thing?” he asked her. “Should I have told you?”

“At the time, no,” B’Elanna had said. “I was, what — four weeks pregnant? I probably would have found a  _ bat’leth _ and gutted him like a fish. But I’m not the same person I was back then. Neither are you, and neither is Harry. So go fucking talk to him, will you?”

That had been three nights ago, and Tom still hadn’t done it. He’d turned over all of Harry’s post-op care to Nara, with one of his residents supervising. He’d kept himself busy, too: caught up on the latest medical journals, agreed to an oft-delayed (and dreaded) meeting with Parhaia’s windbag public health commissioner. B’Elanna had pointedly said last night that Harry’s shuttle would be spaceworthy in two, maybe three days tops. “I mean it, Tom. I  _ will  _ kick you. Hard.”  

But despite B’Elanna’s persistence, it seemed Tom’s youngest would be the one to force the issue. He crossed into the interior of the shuttle hangar, blinking at the change of light. “Maryam? I know you’re in here!”

No response. He did hear, however, muffled voices and the sound of a laser drill coming from inside Harry’s shuttle. Tom moved closer.

“A daredevil pilot. My dad? That’s the truth?”

“Absolutely. He was the chief helmsman, and at one point was probably the best pilot in two quadrants. Your dad never told you any of this?”

“Sure, he told us. He talks about it all the time. I just figured he was lying. I mean, you’ve seen him, right?”

Tom smiled in spite of himself. Nothing like kids to keep one humble. He leaned in through the aft hatch. “I heard that, Maryam!” he called out.

His daughter’s perennially mussed hair and dirty face popped out from a hole in the shuttle floor. “Hi, Daddy!” she said, her smile bright for just a second before it fell away. “You’re going to make me go back to school, aren’t you?”

“Tomorrow, yes,” Tom said. “I’ve been looking for you for so long, there’s not much point in sending you back today.” He handed her the PADD in his hand. “For now, I want you to go to Mr. Dalby’s office, and write a letter of apology to your teacher. He’s waiting for you outside the hanger.”

“Writing?” she said, her expression horrified. “But, Daddy! I hate writing!”

“I know.” Tom hauled her bodily out of the shuttle’s lower compartment. “That’s the point. Remember our agreement. You skip school three times, no kitten. You’ve only got one more strike, but I won’t count today if you do a good job with the letter.”

As Maryam had already picked out her kitten, as well as the questionable name ‘Senator Murder Dragon,’ this was the ultimate in motivation. She clutched the PADD to her chest and flew out of the shuttle.

By the time Tom turned from watching his daughter (hopefully) do as asked, Harry had climbed out of the lower compartment. “You’re a good dad,” he said.

Tom shrugged. “I hope so,” he said. “It’s hard to know in the moment. With Maryam, B’Elanna and I figure if she hasn’t burned the house down by age twelve, we can call it a win. I hope she wasn’t bothering you.”

“No,” Harry said. “Actually, she was a lot of help. She knows a lot more about engineering than I did at seven.”

Tom wandered around the dingy shuttle and landed in the cockpit. “That’s B’Elanna’s influence. Mary likes to follow her around when she can.” He tapped on the control panel. His eyes widened as it flickered on. “Wow, Harry. This thing’s a piece of crap.”

Harry laughed. “I know. That’s on purpose. In my line of work, it’s better to fly under the radar, so to speak.”

“Intelligence, huh?” Tom said, crossing his arms across his chest. “Not where I would have put you when we first met on DS9.”

“Things change. People change.” Harry shrugged. He picked up a hyperspanner, then put it back down, then picked it up again.

Tom guessed B’Elanna was right about who needed to make the first move. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

This time when he put the hyperspanner down, he left it there. “For what? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I did the worst thing,” Tom said. “I gave up on you. You never would have. You never  _ did _ . Most people probably would have left us on Hoth to die.”  

Harry studied his boots. “All I did was pick up the signal from your beacon. You guys saved yourselves.”

“I know it wasn’t as simple as that,” Tom said, and he did — from both Chakotay and his father. Starfleet, still recovering from the nearly catastrophic war with the Dominion, had been reluctant to expend the resources to save one, long-lost ship, even after the beacon’s signal had come through. Harry’s persistent badgering of the admiralty was a large reason the remaining Voyagers had made it back home.

“And I know it isn’t as simple as you ‘gave up on me,’” Harry said. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, you know. To reflect on how much pain you must have been in back then. How hard you — all of you — had to fight to survive and recover. I know how much you were trying to help me, too.” He turned to face the open hatch of the shuttle and gestured at the hangar beyond. “And now I see this: the colony, your job, your kids. You and B’Elanna have built this amazing life out here, and if it had been up to me, it never would have happened. Shit. When I think of what I nearly destroyed…”

Tom heard the hitch in his voice and made the two quick steps to where Harry stood. He put his hand on his shoulder. “But you didn’t, Har.”

“Only because you stopped me,” Harry said. His voice was thick, and the words were barely coherent. “I’m sorry, Tom. I’m so sorry.” 

As Tom turned Harry around and folded him into his arms, he realized that Harry wasn’t just sorry for plotting to change the timeline, or for the things he’d said to Tom in anger. He realized that, despite however many counselors he’d seen, or meds he’d been on, his friend was still wracked by grief and remorse for the lives lost on  _ Voyager _ . Three faces flashed through his brain — ones he’d never forget — and he hugged Harry a little tighter.

It took a while, for Harry’s sorrow to exhaust itself and for the tears to stop. “Fuck,” he said, wiping away at the tears in his eyes. “Sorry about that.” Tom started to laugh.

Harry glared at him. “What’s so damn funny?”

“I never thought I’d see the day when Harry Kim said ‘fuck.’” He grinned at his friend. “What would your parents say?”    
  
“Shut the fuck up, Paris,” Harry grumbled, but his eyes were amused. “There. I said it twice.”

“I’ll start keeping a log.”

The two men smiled at each other. It wasn’t as easy as this. Too much had happened for it all to get settled by a single conversation. But it was a start.

They left the hangar together, Tom having invited Harry to come to the house for dinner. He watched his friend as they walked to get Maryam. Slumped posture, gaunt build, shadows under his eyes — and none of it entirely explained by his head injury. Tom was playing a little fast and loose with medical ethics here, but it was for a good cause. “You need to take a vacation, Har. Rumor has it you haven’t had a real leave in ten years.”

“Rumor?” Harry asked.

“OK, your ‘Fleet medical records.” As Harry’s mouth opened into a complaint, Tom raised his hands. “Hey, I was performing major surgery on you,” he said. “I needed to make sure there wasn’t anything I needed to know. Health-wise, I mean.”

Harry looked mollified, but just barely. “What’s the point?”

“No point is the point,” Tom said. He gestured at the palm-like trees that they could just see past the next hangar. “Sun, sand, sea. You just sit back and enjoy it. You used to be pretty good at having fun doing nothing.”  

“No,” Harry said. “I mean: what’s the point of taking leave when I have no one to spend it with? I like working. Or, I like having something to do. It’s better than thinking too much.”

Tom, being a mostly reformed practitioner, recognized an advanced case of self-pity when he saw it. “OK, so forget leave. What about a career change?” He gave Harry a sly look before adding: “I think the school needs a new math teacher.”

Harry rolled his eyes and laughed. It was a nice sound to hear. “You’re hilarious. But I don’t think I’m qualified.”

“I was talking about your mother,” Tom said. “Your parents could move here. It would be really convenient for them — assuming their son was the colony’s Federation liaison.” When Harry did nothing but gape at him, Tom continued. “You may have heard me complain about him once or twice, but it turns out it’s kind of nice having an Admiral for a father — especially when he lives over a week away at high warp. He can’t tell me everything, of course, but he’s told me enough that we knew to start protecting our home. And Starfleet is  _ very  _ interested in the planetary cloaking tech B’Elanna’s developed. They’ve been talking about having an official contact here for a couple of months now.”

Harry looked like he was thinking about crying again. “You would want me here?”

Tom gave him a lopsided smile. “Yeah. I think that would be pretty nice, actually.”

They rescued Maryam from her apology letter and walked towards the Torres-Paris home, swinging the little girl between them. “What do you think, Monkey Butt,” Tom said, “about Harry coming to live on Parhaia?”

She squealed as her feet flew of the pavement. “I think you shouldn’t let him fly our shuttle, Dad!”

“Hey!” said Harry, laughing. “I thought we were friends!”

Maryam broke free of their hands and pelted towards the house that had just come in to view. “We are! I’m mean to all my friends!”

Tom grinned. “She’s not wrong. That kid’s a holy terror.”

“I’ll have to get a thicker skin,” Harry said, then paused when they reached the front gate. “You sure about this, Tom? It seems kind of sudden. We weren’t even speaking as of this morning.”

“I’m sure, Harry. There’s really just one thing left to say.”

“What’s that?”

Tom pulled open the gate and gestured towards their little stucco house, lit up and noisy with the kids’ laughter. “Welcome home.”

 

The End 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone that read, and especially to those that left kudos and commented! I appreciate every single one of you!


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